


On the Ill-Advised Card of Wayward Assassins

by boxofrogs



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medicinal Drug Use, Mild Blood, Sibling Love, Somewhat graphic description of injury, Victorian Medicine, ah the homoeroticism of tending your dearest friends wounds while he bleeds on your carpet, minor internalised homophobia, twins being twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25308751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofrogs/pseuds/boxofrogs
Summary: Frederick Abberline had seen and participated in many strange and arguably immoral things in his life, but things had gotten infinitely stranger and arguably more immoral since meeting the Frye twins. Of course, being a fine detective with keen instincts, he immediately expected Jacob Frye when someone knocked on the first floor window of his home in the dead of night, but what he did not expect was to have to play nurse to his injured friend, or the effect of his simple care on his dear wayward Assassin.Alternatively: Jacob learns about himself, and about love.
Relationships: Evie Frye & Jacob Frye, Frederick Abberline/Jacob Frye
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64





	1. Vignettes from Invisible Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! You wouldn’t believe it, but this fic has been in the works on and off since /2016/. I wish I was joking. Well, chapter one at least is now almost 4 years old, but the rest is more recent. I didn’t originally intend to post it, incomplete as it was, but rereading it inspired me. 
> 
> I think I’ve tagged pretty extensively and cautiously: I don’t feel that the injuries detailed in this fic are particularly graphic, but it’s better to be over-cautious than expose someone who doesn’t wish to read it to that type of content. Similarly, the drug warning refers to the use of Laudanum in a medicinal context (typical of Victorian medicine), which shouldn’t be too upsetting, but it’s certainly understandable if some readers would prefer to avoid it. Finally, the internalised homophobia in this fic is very minor and entirely implicit, however I felt it best to tag for courtesy.
> 
> The chapter titles are all taken from real Victorian natural history books! The idea came to me after titling the work itself, and I spent a lot of time looking up pictures of Victorian books with beautiful publishers cloth binding, which I can’t recommend enough. I’ll include links to the library and the article that led me to it in the end notes for those interested!
> 
> Enjoy!

Frederick immediately expected Jacob Frye when he heard a knock in his window at… at _four o'clock in the morning_. The other man had never been to Frederick's home before, but he was nowhere near fool enough to believe Jacob didn't know where he lived. The Frye twins were a little scary like that, always knowing things. 

What he didn't expect was for the younger twin to tumble through the window as soon as the latch was up. Jacob flopped onto Frederick’s rug in a manner alarmingly reminiscent of a dead fish. While he'd never have described Jacob as _graceful_ \- _heavy_ or _predatory_ might be better if slightly less complimentary words - he knew that the man would normally have taken the opportunity to sneak up on him. A man like Jacob didn't go falling into windows unless he were very drunk, or very badly injured.

“Jacob?” He called softly, crouching next to the man, quite unsure what to do with his hands. He had no earthly idea of the extent of Jacob’s injuries - God knows the man had a penchant for punching far above his own weight - and definitely didn't want to add to them. 

“F- Freddy.” Jacob slurred wetly into the carpet, “I understand now isn't the best of times, but I'd be eternally grateful if you could get me out of these clothes.” He chuckled brittley, breaking off into a rattling bout of coughing. 

“Alright,” Frederick said with a sympathetic grimace, attempting to haul the other man into a sitting position against the wall. His hands on Jacob’s shoulders came away covered in blood that he doubted belonged to him; he’d never have made it here if it did. 

Removing Jacob’s coat proved more difficult than anticipated, involving a close-quarters wrestling match which had Frederick worried he was splitting Jacob's wounds open. 

“Easy, Jacob.” He murmured, pushing the coat away from his shoulders. Jacob hissed painfully. “Easy there. I know.” 

Beneath that there was a frankly ridiculous amount of layers, which, at any other time he would have rather enjoyed teasing the other man about. He settled for grumbling as he undid the waistcoat instead. Jacob remained thankfully quiet, almost to the point Frederick worried he'd bled out. But no, a look at the young man’s face told him Jacob was still alive, and indeed quite entertained by Frederick’s battle with his outerwear.

“This ‘sn’t how I ‘magined this going.” Jacob uttered, blood oozing from his mouth as he spoke and dripping from his chin. Frederick stared at it in horror for a moment, before replying quite serenely that he knew exactly how Jacob had imagined this going, because he did.

With the waistcoat and subsequent layers out of the way, Frederick could see the great dark plumes of blood that had seeped into Jacob’s shirt. He’d been slashed a few times across the chest, with a gash across his shoulder where Frederick suspected a bullet had grazed him.

“Bloody hell, man.” 

“Not pretty.” Jacob agreed, letting his head loll back against the windowsill. Frederick eased himself up to fetch a pair of scissors and what meager medical supplies he kept, and clean his hands of blood. On his return Jacob grinned.

“Ruining a p’rfectly good shirt, Freddy.” Jacob said. His eyes had fallen shut at some point, but he could feel Frederick shredding his clothes, the cold metal of the scissors against his skin. Freddy’s hands were shaking.

“Perfectly good my arse.” He grumbled, giving up on the scissors and ripping away what was left of Jacob’s shirt. Two incised wounds ran across his body; one thankfully shallow across his stomach, one deeper, running across his chest. The slashes had begun to clot some, but the bullet hole was still sluggishly oozing blood. Jacob was bloody lucky the shot had missed. 

“Hold this.” Frederick said, pressing the tattered shirt against the bullet wound. He’d have to stitch up the gash on Jacob’s chest or risk him bleeding out. 

He’d given stitches before, it would be fine. No need to panic.

“No need to panic.” He said, mostly to himself, distantly aware that he sounded like he ought to be carted off to Lambeth Asylum. 

“’m not panicking,” Jacob mumbled, “‘re you panicking, Freddy?”

“Just a little bit.” Frederick replied, rummaging through the first aid kit for a needle and some thread. By the time he found it, he was trembling so badly that threading the needle was near impossible.

“Here.” Jacob said softly, easing the needle out of Frederick’s hands. He even managed to thread it after only a few moments of semi-lucid squinting. 

Frederick then harassed him into drinking most of a small vial of opium for the pain. The vehement protests were a bit of a surprise, all things considered, but Jacob lived to be contrary.

Jacob flinched when the needle broke through his skin, but stayed quiet and watched intently as Frederick worked. Both wounds were closed as quickly as he could manage while Jacob waxed poetic about how _amazing laudanum is, really Freddy, have some, it’s so good_. The stitches were a little uneven - he was no Florence Nightingale - but they would hold. 

“All done.” He whispered, leaning close. Jacob was limp against the wall and smelled of blood and sweat, eyes wide and glassy but still able to meet Frederick’s own. The bullet wound was a lot easier to handle, treated with a bandage wrapped firmly around Jacob’s torso, his other wounds covered for good measure. 

Hauling Jacob to the bed was quite the task, and getting him to lie still was only worse. He kept insisting on going back to the train, but he was in no fit state to do so, and Frederick had no idea where it would be at this hour besides that. The bloody thing always seemed to mysteriously disappear whenever he needed it. 

He allowed himself a moment to sit down and wonder how his life had managed to spiral so spectacularly out of his control. Jacob was quiet on the bed next to him, but for the deep, regular sound of his breath. Frederick could admit, if only to himself, that he found it rather comforting. 

He was about to get up to go and figure out his own sleeping arrangements, since he’d been usurped from his own bed, but Jacob’s hand curled limply around his wrist as soon as his weight shifted. “Thank you, Freddy.” Jacob whispered, tipping his head to the side to watch Frederick with half-lidded eyes. 

“You’re welcome.” Frederick says, a little tieredly, because that’s what you say when someone thanks you. 

“No… Listen..” Jacob murmurs sounding at once quite frustrated and as though he was about to fall asleep. He pulled Frederick’s wrist, with a surprising amount of strength for someone on so much laudanum, and the man struggled not to topple over and land on him. 

“ _Thank you._ ” Jacob said again, and Frederick could feel the heat of his breath against his cheek, and Jacob’s hand on his wrist. When he managed to look Jacob in the eyes there was something so warm and honest that it stole his breath for a moment. 

“Of course.” Frederick said softly. “Now, go to sleep.” 

“Not on your life, Fred’rick Abb’rline.” Jacob slurred, and then passed out rather abruptly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah 2016, you sure were a year that happened.
> 
> I’m planning on staggering the upcoming chapters a little while I fine tune them and also because I’m a tease ;) please stay tuned for more! If you’d prefer to binge-read the whole thing the last chapter should be up soon, once if finished fiddling with it, but ch2 will be up right away!
> 
> Here’s the links for the [article](https://hyperallergic.com/143652/the-romance-of-science-in-victorian-natural-history-bookbindings/) and [library of Victorian natural history publishers cloth binding](https://www.flickr.com/photos/thomasfisherlibrary/sets/72157645606708142/with/14619796134/)! They’re a real delight, very Art Nouveau, and a lot of the titles are much more fanciful and evocative than I expected. 
> 
> If you read the start notes you’ll know that this fic is almost 4 years old! Which is insane! But it’s been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, and after replaying AC:S again late last year, I picked it up again. The Frye Twins are some of my favourite protags of the series, though I may be a little biased; AC:S was my first Assassin’s Creed game, and I also happen to be a twin! 
> 
> Thanks you for reading! Please leave a comment, I’d love to hear your thoughts! 💖


	2. Tales About Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob wakes up and, despite what they say, they’re _both_ daft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is here! I’ve been working on this one for a while, though not as long as chapter one, and I’m finally happy with it. I’m starting to think the reason everything takes me so long boiled down to sheer nitpicking :0 anyway, enjoy some soft, slightly exasperated mlm moments 💖

Jacob drifted back to awareness in stages. His eyes were crusted shut and itchy when he finally managed to open them. And then, quite abruptly, everything started to really bloody hurt. He rolled to the side, his vision blurring, looking for - - for  _ something  _ to ease the pain. Perhaps something to vomit into, or at least a heavy object he could use to knock himself out again. 

“You sound like a dying horse.” 

“ _ Freddy-”  _ Jacob rasped, intending to follow it with  _ I  _ _ am _ _ dying _ , but before he could force the words out a cool glass of water was pressed into his hand. He drank it one go, heedless of the way it spilled onto his bare chest. It didn’t even occur to him to protest when Freddy’s cool, calloused hand came to rest against his forehead. The contact was careful, tender, and there was so much relief in the cool of the other man’s palm, the way his fingers curled along Jacob’s hairline. It made him think of being nursed back to health by his mother as a child, despite the fact that he had no memory of such an event to compare it to. When he really thought about it, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been touched so gently. 

“You’re a little feverish.” Freddy murmured, mopping up the water with a handkerchief without complaint. When Jacob found the courage to open his eyes again, there he was, in all his worn, homely glory. His hair was even more untidy than usual, and there were bruise-purple bags under his eyes. Those were probably Jacob’s fault. 

  
  


“I’m fine, Freddy.” He grunted, hauling himself out of bed. It hurt. It hurt quite a lot more than he’d thought it would, but to hell with it if he was going to let Freddy know that. 

“You’re not fi-” 

“I’m going back to the train.” He interrupted, scooping his damaged jacket and the remainder of his clothes up from the floor and hiding a wince. Putting them back on was a bit of a trial, and he had no illusions about how ridiculous the waistcoat looked without a shirt, but he really ought to go. 

“You’re not going back to the train.” Freddy said, putting himself between Jacob and the window. Jacob wasn’t sure if he should be offended that he was apparently so predictable; perhaps he should be flattered that Freddy knew he wouldn’t bother with the door. 

“I  _ am  _ going back to the train Freddy.” Jacob said, moving him aside by the shoulders, “You are not my mother.” Frederick went quiet for a moment, and Jacob took that as his que to start climbing back out of the same window he’d first come in through.

“Jacob?” Freddy called, and his tone that gave the assassin pause, even halfway out of the window. He was used to exasperation from most people, but underneath that, the way Freddy said his name was so soft and fretful that he found himself frozen to the spot. 

“Oh for  _ god’s _ sake, you _ daft man.”  _ Freddy snapped as he pulled Jacob back inside. 

“ _ You’re  _ daft.” Jacob said petulantly, and then promptly decided to shut up at the look on Freddy’s face.  


“Shirt’s buggered anyway.” He mumbled after a moment, giving Freddy a weak smile. 

“You are a nightmare, Jacob Frye.” Freddy sighed, sitting down heavily on the bed beside him. 

“Oh, I’m not  _ that _ bad, surely?” 

“You were  _ shot _ last night, in case you don’t remember, and stabbed, too. And not one day later here you are climbing out of my bedroom window and ruining your stitches.” Freddy sighed, sniffling rather conspicuously, “I worked bloody hard on those stitches, I’ll have you know.” He flopped backwards onto the bed. After a moment's hesitation, Jacob carefully lowered himself down beside him. 

“Is it really so hard to believe that I care about you?” Freddy murmured, and Jacob fought not to tense up. 

“I know you care about me.” He said, because he did know. You didn’t stay awake all night watching over someone you didn’t care about. You didn’t clean the dried blood from their clothes. If Freddy didn’t care about him he wouldn’t have been nearly so angry, or tired, or covered in dry blood. 

“You don’t act like it.” Jacob didn’t reply, instead surveying the cracks in the ceiling with interest. Freddy seemed to be doing the same, laying beside him on his back. 

“I know.” Jacob said after a while. Freddy cared about him entirely too much. Even the brief touch of his palm against Jacob’s brow was burned into the assassin’s memory; the tenderness of his hands against Jacob’s battered body, the rasp of his cotton handkerchief, the smell of rubbing alcohol and the heat of his breath when Jacob had pulled him close last night, unable to think past the laudanum and delirium. 

Freddy cared about him too much, and god help him, Jacob wanted that care. The other man had gone far out of his way many times for Jacob’s sake, had been kind and tender towards him in a way that was, in retrospect, a great personal risk both in terms of his own safety and their continued relationship. There was a quiet, deliberate kind of bravery in that which he’d never really appreciated until now, with the way his own heart was beating out of his chest at the thought of- 

-of returning it. He was beginning to realise that what he wanted to do was return it. 

“I-” he said, and the rest of the sentence seemed to abandon him as Freddy rolled onto his side to give him his full attention. His whole body was slack and relaxed, brown eyes warm and gentle, cheek pressed against the topsheet. At once, Jacob wondered how he could be so relaxed in bed with another man, and committed himself to ensuring that he would remember this sight forever. 

“What is it?” Freddy asked, a note of teasing in his voice. Jacob’s throat worked, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything remotely worth saying. Despite the airs he usually put on, he was aware that he was hardly silver-tongued. Eloquent and charming, yes, but he had a tendency to talk himself into worse situations rather than out of bad ones. He had always felt that his actions spoke clearly enough to make up for it. 

Meeting Freddy’s eyes was hard; beautiful as they were he wanted nothing more than to shy away. If he could look at the wall or the ceiling it would be much easier to make the rest of him move, but he knew he needed to do this. Recklessness was perhaps his defining trait, but he was coming to realise he’d been a damnable coward. 

The sheets whispered against each other as he shifted, eyes never leaving Freddy’s. His fingertips met the back of the other man’s hand and he felt the sudden jolt that went through Freddy’s body. Without looking it took him a moment; a light touch lingering on the warm dry skin of the back of the man’s hand, the wild look in Freddy’s eyes. 

He linked their hands together. 

Freddy favoured him with a smile, his eyes still the slightest bit dazed as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, and Jacob wondered how it could be so easy to put that look on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2019 was also a year that happened. It was a pretty good one for me, all things considered.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me until chapter two! I apologise for all the pissing about I always do with formatting, etc. lmao. 
> 
> This chapter was very enjoyable and cathartic to write. It becomes something of a theme in these two later chapters; Jacob coming to realise that he is deeply cared for, despite the fact that I think he has often felt quite alone or unloved. I think no matter who you are, it’s very easy to feel alone and misunderstood, but you’re likely more loved than you know. 
> 
> Here’s the links for the [article](https://hyperallergic.com/143652/the-romance-of-science-in-victorian-natural-history-bookbindings/) and [library of Victorian natural history publishers cloth binding](https://www.flickr.com/photos/thomasfisherlibrary/sets/72157645606708142/with/14619796134/)! They’re a real delight, very Art Nouveau, and a lot of the titles are much more fanciful and evocative than I expected. 
> 
> Thanks you for reading! Please leave a comment, I’d love to hear your thoughts! 💖


	3. Beauty in Common Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! Thanks for sticking around! I hope that this chapter brings things to something of a satisfying conclusion. Please leave me your thoughts in the comments! 
> 
> This chapter was subject to a lot of last-minute edits and additions, so please let me know if there are any spelling/grammar issues etc! (Be gentle with me tho :’))

Their breakfast that morning was simple fare; day-old bread toasted over the belly of the stove in Freddy’s kitchen, fried egg on the stove top with the yolk still runny. The streets outside were quiet and empty, soft silence and sunlight pouring in through the thin curtains and illuminating the small white room with a warm and pleasant atmosphere. The light caught on threads of auburn in Freddy’s hair and made them shine like polished copper. When he turned to lay their places at the table it caught his eyes as well, turning them impossibly soft and bright. 

“Thank you.” Jacob murmured as he was given a plate and a cup of tea with steam curling off of it. He received a soft _you’re welcome_ in return. Freddy was looking at him like he saw something similar; as though he saw something fine and beautiful in the white cotton collar of his borrowed sleepshirt resting weightlessly across Jacob’s chest. 

They ate in silence for a while, and then Jacob remarked that Freddy would make an excellent housewife; Freddy surprised him by replying that he wouldn’t mind, “But not on that bloody awful train.” He said, scooping his used plate and cup from the table, stepping smartly around it to Jacob’s side. 

“If I may, Mr Frye?” Freddy favoured Jacob with a warm, roguish look that he had never seen before, but instantly decided that he very much enjoyed. 

“At your leisure, my dear Sargent.” Jacob replied, lifting his own plate. He almost dropped it to the floor when Freddy pressed a gentle, dry kiss to his cheek instead. 

“You’ll get stuck that way, Jacob.” He said, easing it out of Jacob’s hands, not bothering to turn around as he put the dishes into the sink. Jacob stared at his back for a few moments, observing the way that his shirt dipped with the curve of his back, the puff of it where it was tucked into his trousers, the way the woolen fabric of them hugged his hips. Definitely his hips, Jacob was a gentleman after all. 

“I’ll do that,” he said, scraping his chair on the wooden floor as he stood.

“Oh, he has manners? What a surpri- J-Jacob!” 

“Revenge is best served hot, Freddy dear.” Jacob purred, giving Freddy’s arse another unrepentant squeeze. He allowed himself a moment to simply curl his arms around Freddy’s waist and rest against the other man’s back before dutifully taking over the dishes. 

Sometime later the afternoon sun spilling through the window of the bedroom upstairs caught them tangled together in Freddy’s bed, though by then they were doing little more than speaking softly to one another and allowing the occasional curious touch. Contentment settled warmly in Jacob’s chest, below Freddy’s palm as the other man laid it over his heart. They’d barely managed to get out of their clothes, though he was glad to still be wearing a shirt, given the slight chill that always seemed to linger on the London air. He heaved a long, satisfied sign, and felt Freddy’s answering chuckle, but the moment was handily ruined by someone hammering at the knocker on the front door.

“Jacob? What the hell are you doing?! Jacob! I’m not even dressed! Jacob!” 

“It’s Evie. And I’m fairly certain she’s here for me, not you.” Jacob said, levelling a raised eyebrow at Freddy. 

“How could you possibly know who it is?” Freddy grumbled, but despite his injuries Jacob still possessed a quick stride, and was far outpacing him in reaching the front door. 

“We’re twins; we have a supernatural connection.” Jacob said, wiggling his fingers at Freddy to illustrate his apparent psychic abilities. 

He supposed his second sight could be considered a supernatural ability, though it had never seemed anything but normal growing up. Evie was always lit up ally-green in eagle vision - a bright pillar among the murk of everything else. In the years they’d been in London he’d become able to sense her very easily, even at a distance if he focused. Undoubtedly Evie could do the same; she’d never have found him otherwise. Or perhaps he really was becoming terribly predictable. Sadly it seemed likely to be an equal measure of the two. Still, she must have been looking for him, probably to deliver some kind of lecture and possibly also an arse-kicking. 

Jacob watched Freddy dash back up the stairs, attempted to smooth the scowl from his face, and pulled open the front door.

“Where the bloody hell have you _been_?” Evie hissed, darting in and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Ow! Ow! Watch the stitches!” Jacob whined. She loosened her grip instantly, but didn’t let go. 

Jacob reflected that he was a bit of an idiot. 

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, looping his arms around her shoulders in return. They were a little stiff, but he managed to give her what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze before they parted. 

“Did you get a knock on the head as well?” Evie asked, pulling away. She rapped her knuckles against his forehead none too gently, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be too bothered by it. 

“Something like that.” He replied, swatting her hand halfheartedly, unable to stop himself from glancing at Freddy, who’d just returned to the doorway looking technically presentable, but decidedly more disheveled than usual.

Evie hummed in a way Jacob was quite familiar with - a sound that usually meant she had used her astute sense of observation to immediately see right through him and divine not only the obvious fact that they’d slept together, but also extensive information he would never be able to fathom. 

“Thank you very much for taking care of my brother, Mr Abberline. I can only imagine the trouble he’s caused you. We’ll be going now.” She said, pulling Jacob forward by the collar of his borrowed shirt. 

“E-Evie! I’m not even wearing shoes-!” Jacob flailed, sending Freddy a pleading look. 

“Won’t you stay for a cup of tea, Ms Frye?” Freddy asked, a perfect parody of a gentleman but for the smirk at Jacob’s expense that he couldn’t quite manage to suppress. 

“I suppose I will.” Evie said, and stepped inside without bothering to release her brother. 

_I’ve made a grave mistake,_ Jacob thought, smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not even gonna talk about 2020 tbh.
> 
> The writing of this chapter involved such fascinating research as: ‘what year were doorbells invented?’ and ‘when did toasters become popular household appliances?’ Sadly Jacob and Evie would probably not have been able to experience these wonderful inventions in their lifetimes. But on the other hand it’s not particularly difficult to toast bread over a fire, and it tastes just the same.
> 
> Here’s the links for the [article](https://hyperallergic.com/143652/the-romance-of-science-in-victorian-natural-history-bookbindings/) and [library of Victorian natural history publishers cloth binding](https://www.flickr.com/photos/thomasfisherlibrary/sets/72157645606708142/with/14619796134/) that the chapter titles are taken from! They’re a real delight, very Art Nouveau, and a lot of the titles are much more fanciful and evocative than I expected. 
> 
> Evie does not get nearly enough screen time here, and for that I apologise. I really like her and Jacob together, and if I find some inspiration I’d like to explore their twinly dynamic more! Similarly, if the mood takes me I could stand to expand this fic/universe a little further ;3
> 
> Thanks you so much for sticking with me! Please leave a comment, I’d love to hear your thoughts! 💖


End file.
